Pigpen started the day at 6:59am. I don't know about you, but in my world, there is a huge difference between a time that starts with a 6 and a time that starts with a 7. I dragged out of bed to snatch him up before he could wake up Piglet.
When you walk into Pigpen's room, it's never boring. Today his fine, thin bird hair was sticking straight up off the back of his head and a little on the side. He had his doggie clutched in his teeth and was peering through the crib bars. "Mamaaaaaaaaa!" he yelled with a grin, and then began furiously gesturing at his diaper. "Poo-pooooooo!" he alerted me. Awesome. Everyone should start their day with someone else's excrement.
I unsuccessfully attempted to get him to lie in bed with me and watch Elmo. After 15 minutes of trying, Piglet was up anyway, so I gave up and made coffee. Shuttled both kids downstairs and within 30 seconds, Pigpen had busted his lip. (This is a phrase that has always bothered me because I am certain that it is grammatically incorrect, but I don't know another way to say it to convey that he had a large, swollen, puffy lip that was all but split.) There was wailing. We added it to the growing list that contains the skinned knees, the cut heel, and the goose egg on his head that have transpired thus far over these three days of break.
Somehow over breakfast, Piglet convinced me that today would be a good day to go buy this summer's Crocs. After the event that should be of the Olympic variety, my daily shower with two small people, I was sweaty and out of breath, but mostly dressed and ready to go. As though herding cats, I attempted to get both boys in the way of the garage ("NACK! NACK!" Pigpen's constant hunger demanded feeding) ("I NEED my bunny ears! NEED!" Piglet is super dramatic these days.)
We arrived at the outlets. I headed only to the Crocs store with my shopping blinders on. I walked bravely past Pottery Barn, William Sonoma, Banana Republic and Nine West.
My poor judgment led me to squeeze in a trip to Lowe's before lunch for plants and potting soil. Apparently, Monday around lunchtime is senior shopping hour. Senior shoppers did not appreciate or see any humor in Piglet experimenting with his new word "panties" in the shopping cart. If he were using the word in a normal or sensical manner, it probably would have been overlooked, however he belts it out as though it's a curse word. "OH, PANTIES!" he yells. Publicly. I blame school. There is a lot of discussion and sharing of things of a potty nature. He is very curious about why girls' unkies are called panties and his aren't. Alas.
We rushed through lunch and headed to nap (Pigpen) and quiet time (Piglet). Whew. I cleaned the kitchen, emptied the dishwasher, potted 4 plants, folded a load of clothes, put together a fire pit, and cut this week's coupons from my train. And then Piglet was done, so it was on again. He was super pumped for his playdate today. [Note: I am arranging copious playdates more for my sanity than for his play needs. I crave adult conversations.]
His girlfriend from down the street arrived, ready to party. In true boy style, he lost his mind and turned into an animal at the sight of a girl. Luckily, she has an older brother and can keep up. They hurled sand at each other, threw all the water out of the water table and onto one another, and screamed in excitement. After a while, we just tuned them out until we looked over to find that his friend had removed her panties and flung them on the deck and Piglet had dropped trou and was peeing right there on the deck. Again, I blame school. These two are far too used to seeing each other pee. All adult parties involved didn't know whether to laugh or be horrified.
Mr. Pigs was working late, so I threw dinner together, and hustled The Sticky One and The Sandy One into the bathtub and off to bed. And now I blog. My eyes are heavy. I must go rest up for Day 2.